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THE 



WIDOW'S SON: 



A SKETCH FROM REAL LIFE 



R. C.WATERSTON. 




BOSTON: 

JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY 



M DCCC XLIII. 






^[^'J 



"He, the young and strong, who cherished 
Noble longings for the strife, 
By the road-side fell and perished, 
Weary with the march of life!" 



BOSTON. 
THUKSTON AND T()Ki',Y. P Itl.V ,•' E i;S.' ' 



THE WIDOW'S SON 



During tlie last season I was called to visit an interesting young man 
at that time dangerously ill. He had been a seaman, and was on board 
the Barque Burlington, during her last voyage. Tliis ship being loaded 
with cotton, and having a crew of fourteen hands, on March 10th, 1840, 
while in the Gulf Stream, was struck by lightning. The events stated 
in the following lines are literally true. I have in my possession the 
crucifix, and the journal kept by the young man. 



The swallow skims the meadow ground, 
The bloom is on the hawthorn spray, 

The sky is fair, and all around 

Seems fitting the sweet month of May. 

The violet lifts its modest head. 

The snow-drops their white buds unfold, 
The clover shines like ruby red, 

And butter-cups like stars of gold. 



Nalui'e haih now a magic spell, 

To nerve the mind and sootiie the heart ; 
But what of this know they, who dwell 

Within the city's crowded mart? 

Yet, even here, the softened air 
Goes with a milder influence by, 

To smooth the furrowed brow of care, 
And change to joy sad sorrow's sigh. 

Thus comes the breeze to one, who now 
Watches beside her dying son ; 

She sees the death-dew on his brow, 
She knows his course is well-nigh run. 

Long has she felt a mother's love, 

Has watched him from his earliest day ; 

And here she leans in grief above, 
To see life's current ebb away. 

That manly brow, that noble form, 

Which nothing now from death can save, 

Has met the fury of the storm 

On land and on the ocean's wave. 



" How often," did the moiher say — 
" When he was on the stoi-my sea, 
Did 1 kneel down to God, and pray 
Tliat he might be restored to me." 

" And then 1 felt if he were near, 
Where I could rest upon his arm, 
I should have nothing more to fear, 
And he would be secure from harm." 

" Yet now, that he no more doth roam 
Mid strangers 'neath a foreign sky. 
But rests within his humble home, 

'T is but to lay him down — and die I" 

" But God, He knoweih what is best, 
And should He take my only son, 
I know his spirit will be blest, 

And therefore may God's will be done." 

Here, as to give her heart relief, 

She stooped and kissed her darling child, 

She struggled with her inward grief. 

Then raised her eyes to heaven — and smiled. 



She felt the power of Holy Trust, 

Of Christian Hopes that in her dwell, 

Which, when a loved one rests in dust, 
Can bow, and feel that all is well. 

She would not cherish idle fears. 

Nor yield her heart to anguish wild ; 

But smiling oft amid her tears, 

She calmly talked about her child. 

She said that even while a boy, 

Though poor, his feelings were refined, 

And that he asked no greater joy, 

Than he from his pure thoughts could find ; 

And often in his boyish dream. 

With simple feelings bright and free, 

He floated down the inland stream, 
And fancied it the heaving sea ; 

And he would read of those who sail, 
With fearless heart and daring high, 

Mid howling storm, — and rushing gale, — 
And tempests darkly sweeping by ; 



or vessels cutting through the brine, 

Parting the waves with iron keel, 
While heaven's hot lightnings round them shine, 

And bursting thunderjs o'er them peal. 

Yet tales like these but stirred him more, 
And as he felt each passing breeze, 

He panted to push off from shore, 
And rock upon the stormy seas. 

He loved indeed his mother well ; 

Yet when he walked in woody glen, — 
Even there his thoughts would often dwell 

On ships, and on sea-faring men. 

Until at length his mother gave 

To his fond wishes her consent, 
And then, with heart free as the wave, 
A mariner to sea he went. 

He cherished feelings pure and high. 

As on each distant soil he trod ; 
And was, beneath whatever sky. 

True to himself and to his God. 



He was as cheerful as tlie light, 
And therefore was beloved by all ; 

Strong in the power of inward might, 
And ever prompt at Duty's call. 

Thrice did he foreign countries roam, 
And thrice of perils past did tell, 

Thrice was he welcomed back to home, 
And thrice he heard the sad farewell. 

Yet once again his native land 

Grows dim before his backward gaze ; 
And seas by foreign breezes fanned 

Are flashing in the noon-tide blaze. 

A tropic sun above them pours 

Its stifling heat ; and as they reach, 

Ghastly and wan, those distant shores, 
A pestilence has swept the beach. 

Feeble and sick he lies ; the while 
A stranger watches by his bed ; 

Dark eyes gaze o'er him with a smile, 
And cool hands press his acliing head. 



Sweet was the voice and kind the look, 
That gently watched above him there ; 

And, with her crucifix, and book, 
She often knelt in earnest prayer. 

And when, restored, he left that land, 
Their eyes with parting tears were dim, 

And when in his he clasped her hand, 
She gave the crucifix to him. 

And while he sailed upon the deep, 
The crucifix was with him there ; 

And ere he closed his eyes in sleep. 
Her name was murmured in his prayer. 

Upon his home-bound voyage at night, 
When blackness veiled each earthly form. 

The dark clouds gathered in their might. 
And burst in fury and in storm. 

The surf is o'er the top-mast borne, — 
Through heaven the hissing thunders fly, - 

The sails are into ribbons torn, — 

And blazin<r fire-bolts blanch the eye. 



10 



Hark ! — the stout main-mast now is rent 
In splinters by the tempest's ire, — 

Her iron spikes like straws are bent, — 
Oh, heavens ! the vessel is on fire ! 

See ! see ! — the forked flames burst out ! — 
Make fast each plank beneath your feet ! 

Oh, dash the briny waves about, 
And stifle the consuming heat I 

The morning sun its splendor throws 
Upon the storm-tossed floating wreck ; 

The crew, still struggling mid their woes, 
Are toiling on the burning deck. 

Five lingering days they toil, to keep 

The flame from bursting round them there, 

Five lingering nights upon the deep 
They float, as if in dumb despair. 

Their aching sight is stretched in vain, 
From morning's prime to evening late ; 

No distant ship upon the main 

Draws near, to snatch them from their fate. 



11 



They gaze and toil, — they toil and gaze, — 
Mid famine dire and raging heat ; 

The deck, crisped by the hidden blaze, 
Can scarcely now support their feet. 

But look ! a vessel heaves in sight ! 

Bravely that gallant ship draws near; 
The boats are lowered ; each heart beats light ; 

Thank God ! there is no more to fear ! 

They all are safe: but still was turned 
The gaze of that exhausted crew 

To where the blackened hulk still burned, 
Blazing within their dizzy view. 

Swift the fire gains : — and now outflash 
Those flames by precious fuel fed. 

And the burnt wreck, with one wild crash, 
Through the black water sinks like lead ! 

A month goes by, and then once more 

Their wanderings are at end ; 
They tread upon their native shore, 

And greet each old familiar friend ; 



12 



And one, who lands witli right good-will, 
Gratefully looks to heaven above ; 

The crucifix is with him still, 

And still he shares a mother's love. 

Oh, never more he '11 mount the mast, 
Or sail before the ocean breeze ; 

His strength has gone, his power has past, 
He sinks beneath a slow disease. 

Slowly he sinks, and day by day. 
He feels his race is nearly run, 

And, as he gently fades away. 
The mother watches o'er her son. 

Humble their home, and poor their fare, 
But holy joy within them burns; — 

She watches with a mother's care, 
And he a mother's love returns. 

It is her arm supports his head, 
He is her son, her joy, her pride: 

A bible rests upon his bed ; 
A crucifix is by his side. 



13 



Not long will lie know sorrow now : 

Short are the throbs that heave his breast ; 

The death-dew gathers on his brow, 
Softly he sinks in peaceful rest. 

Oh long has lived that mother's love ! 

Him she has watched from life's first day ! 
And here she sadly leans above, 

To see life's current ebb away ! 

She pressed his hand, — " Oh now," she said, 
" What can I ever know of joy ? 
The last hoj)e of my life has fled ! — 
Oh speak once more, my darling boy 1 " 

Then, ere he closed his eyes in rest, 
He sought her sorrow to beguile ; 

And as her hand in his he prest, 

Calm was his look and sweet his smile. 

As if a message from the sky 

Had come to sanctify her will ; 
It seemed as if that kindling eye 

Her heart with heavenly power did fill. 



14 



Tlie struggle 's o'er : — closed are those eyes ; 

The soul hath gently passed away ; — 
See ! as in sleep before us lies 

His manly form — but cold as clay ! 

And now that form, that braved so well 
The thousand perils of the wave, 

Is borne, — while tolls the solemn bell, — 
To rest within a church-yard grave. 

The swallow skims the meadow ground. 
The bloom is on the hawthorn spray. 

The sky is fair, and all around 

Seems fitting the sweet month of May. 

But often shall this scene impart. 

When spring shall its brief course have run, 
A joy to this sad mother's heart. 

As she reflects upon her son. 

Oh, holy are the links that bind 

The living to the dead in love ; 
For while they linger here, the mind 

Communes with them in realms above ! 



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